My Heathcliff

Imagine,
The tempestuous moors
A face swathed in streaming rivers of black
Ravaged by the wild nature of her element
Imagine waiting,
For herself,
A ghost
waiting.
Feel it
Pounding against her ribbed prison,
Calling out. The moors have her, she is incomplete,
Have him.
Recall
Piano keys, intertwining arms
That note.
Responding souls,
Taunt like the strings
– Existence so tightly woven into the fibre of sheet music,
There can be no other.
One and the same, not love, never love
But being.
Like the roots of a tree, she belongs to the land, to herself, to him.
The wind whistles the tune of ghosts,
Of what echoes in heart, in mind,
Meer hopes that these aren’t the sacrificial stories of a dreamer.
Of mere ghosts that taunt,
Both the heart and the strings of musical beasts.
Imagine,
That between the coils of black I see,
That it does exist.
But,
Only to torture.
The sound of a metronome
– Pen against the Wood.
Trapped between two worlds.
Only
- to imagine.

My Heathcliff

Natalia Carvalho

Joined April 2010

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

After reading Wuthering Heights, the consuimg bond between Heathcliff and Catherine led me to write this, wondering whether there really can exist something so intrinsic between two people. Sometime I feel as though I live in the books that I read, as if they could be real.

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